Lunatic. An announcement. *a hem*...

So hey guys. I'm not making this announcement anywhere else, but I'm really excited to let my 3 followers know that I have just started work on a new book which I'm calling "Lunatic." It's going to be a collection of poetry/short stories/essays/whatever else comes out....From time to time, I'm going to post pieces here. This way you have a preview and you can follow the progression of the book. If you enjoy what you see, all I ask is that you tell a friend. And please ask them to do the same. I really want to see how many readers I can gain from conception to completion!

Thanks for the help. Here is your first taste:



I am tapping into my
brain to fill my mug with
the words that will make
you think that I am a
lunatic.


I am hyperventilating
over the fact that I can
still breath
looking over my shoulder
one more time to make
sure the bullets have
stopped chasing me.

I've dodged a lot of them
just so I could sit here
drinking the newest beer
from Budweiser and hoping
that one day someone out
there will know me.

And if they know me, it's
because they read my
words, not listened to
the noise that I've
managed to make over my
hundred years or so.


The wind is blowing in a
fury outside of the door
directly behind me
and I fear that I may one
day be sucked into the
night
with no ground beneath me
to catch me as I fall
further out of life
and into the unknown.

Not that I've ever known
where I was going. Or
even how in the hell I
would manage to get
there.
But I'm here for now,
and for the first time
ever afraid of what's
next.

How will I ever get over
not being here one day?
Seizing to exist. Unable
to take in a breath of
the stench that I loathe
so much?

I'm not being sarcastic,
but rather antagonistic
at the thought that such
a curse has reached it's
way through my skin all
the way to the soul
and some how managed to
take hold.

Where in the hell did I
put that fucking rope?